Growing up, I had a very Jane the Virgin mentality. Sex was for marriage and that was it. Never did I think that I would lose it on the verge of becoming 19 years old. When I was younger—around the age of 15—I wanted to be a nun. I had wanted to finish high school and then head to a convent to dedicate my life to God because I didn't see myself happy with a man and children.

A whore is defined as a prostitute in the dictionary. Go ahead, look it up on Google, I can assure you that this is the definition. The word being around for many years has passed from mouth to mouth, as either a greeting or an insult. Take it as you will, but I see the word as a misunderstanding when targeted out of spite. If I get called a whore, no matter what situation, I see it as a compliment because I know for a fact that I am a whore, a proud one at that. I mean, give me a cock and I will suck that shit dry. My friends do not know of my endeavors and I would never bring them into that lifestyle if I had a chance. They know that I am not a virgin and that&rsquo;s all they need to know. It&rsquo;s not seen in a good manor and part of foreplay for me. It&rsquo;s a rush trying to hide guys from my roommate and lying to my friends on what I&rsquo;m going to do for that night. Just to make it clear, I am not a prostitute, but I do like my sexuality. I will admit to anything that I have done within confidence and will even share the juicy details without hesitance. The funny thing being is that me talking about all this, you probably think I am a skinny porn star with giant boobs and bleach blonde hair. You would be wrong for the most part, but the boobs would be right. I&rsquo;m a 36DD, bitches! To tell the absolute truth, I am a 230lb girl with a big nose and a normal sex drive that I pay attention to. You don&rsquo;t have to be &ldquo;skinny&rdquo; and &ldquo;beautiful&rdquo; to have sex and have guys interested in you! It&rsquo;s all about your confidence, babe. If you need to, throw all your mirrors away and just enjoy your life without you attacking yourself. YOU. ARE. BEAUTIFUL.

"I had a conversation with the Universe," He said to me, underneath the voices of many on the crowded bar patio, twinkling with lights and lit beer signs. My friend and I had stopped in that night after work. I wanted no more than one drink. The weekends rarely leave room to think in this place, but something inside of me said to wait, and so we ended up in a conversation with two easy-going men. They were visiting our mountain town for a reunion with a group of their friends. They had come to the bar to get away, get a drink, and instead we sat around the table outside chain-smoking and having a good time, until their friend showed up to take them back to the guys.

Though we may deny it publicly, many of us have grabbed our phone or laptop when our plans get cancelled and we find ourselves alone in our apartments with nothing to do but get ourselves off and binge watch The Office. (Just me?)

They were very good colleagues. It all started one day when Luisa dropped her handkerchief and Gail reached first for it. Their hands briefly touched, and a spark of electricity shocked them both. At first, neither of them cared about the incident too much. But it happened again. When they were both in a washroom, in front of the mirror repairing their make up, Gail left her hand cream at the desk. Luisa asked if she could borrow a bit. As both their hands reached for it, again they touched and again there was that spark.

I was 14 when I learned that boys' penises will fall off if they get close to orgasm and then don't ejaculate. I had been raised in a conservative community, the sort of place where even male masturbation was frowned upon, and the concept of blue balls was horrifying to me. If arousal was dangerous to men, I couldn't imagine why anyone would have sex.

I've written before about my relationship. It is a beautiful one, but, as I mentioned in that article, there was work that led up to what we have now... Some of that was some good ol' fashioned random sex, no strings attached.

My last post regarding the meaning of sexual liberation for the modern woman gradually began to irritate me so I decided to make an updated post more aligned with my current views. By not examining the sexual lifestyles of women in an effort to be a "Good Feminist(™)" and not judge their sexual choices, I ignored the undeniable societal impact on the way women view sex and instead opted for the unoffensive route — "some women want to fuck around, others don't. Deal with it!" without questioning why.